


Standdown for Christmas

by weepingnaiad



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMF Melinda May, Before Episode: s01e11 The Bridge, Canon Compliant, Community: trope_bingo, F/F, Family, Getting Together, M/M, Phil Coulson inspires loyalty, Phil and Melinda are bffs, Post-Avengers (2012), Trope Bingo Round 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/pseuds/weepingnaiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The holidays are approaching and Phil's mood is turning increasingly dire.  Skye wonders about Phil's family and inspires Melinda to formulate a risky plan to reunite Phil with the only family he had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standdown for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [second_skin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_skin/gifts).



> This was written for [second_skin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/second_skin/pseuds/second_skin). I tried to create something out of your top requests and it ended up getting away from me. I enjoyed the chance to write for you and I hope you like it!
> 
> Thanks go to dazzledfirestar and ladydeathfaerie for running this exchange and for being so patient with all the insanity that my life has been that last few weeks.
> 
> The greatest gratitude goes to abigail89, who, as usual, saved me at the very last hour. Thank you, m'dear! As ever, I couldn't have done this without her! If you do see errors, they're all on me because I fiddle after she looked through it.

"Bloody hell!" Fitz exclaims as the simulation collapses, and Melinda has a hard time keeping a straight face. Then Simmons starts chuckling and Skye snorts and even Ward is smiling. These disparate and _young_ people are growing on her.

"Do it right or I'll call in a team that can get the job done!" Coulson growls as he pushes off from where he'd been watching the exercise. He storms out of the cargo bay leaving everyone gaping after him.

Skye, of course, finds her voice first. "What crawled up A.C.'s butt?"

Melinda sighs to herself. She has a good idea what's going on, but no clear idea on how to fix it.

"Is there something about this mission that's special?" Simmons asks.

Ward shrugs in reply. "Nothing that I'm aware of," he says, then they're all turning and looking at Melinda.

She straightens. "The agent we're retrieving is another one of Coulson's 'strays'," she offers.

"So he's just what? Stressed? Worried? A.C. never sounds like that," Skye insists. 

She's right. Coulson is still a badass, but he's not the stone cold agent that he once was. They're all looking at her like she has all the answers in the world. And, dammit, she wants to fix it.

"Maybe he needs a vacation?" Fitz pipes up when Melinda still hasn't answered Skye.

Simmons gives him a confused look. "You might have something. It's almost the holidays, right? Your American Thanksgiving is in a couple of days--"

"While we'll be in Cartagena," Skye interrupts. Her eyes gleam. "I've never asked. Does A.C. have a family?"

And again all eyes swivel to Melinda. She wants to tell them 'Yes'; she wants to tell them about the family Coulson made for himself; she wants to let them in on one of the largest secrets on the bus, but it's not her story to tell. "I can't say," she deflects. "But if we don't get this run-through done in under five minutes, none of that will matter."

Fitz grumbles as he resets the simulation, but they're a good group and they hop to it. Only Skye looks at her. "Would he really call in someone else?" she asks, her voice pitched low, worry in the tone, and her eyes wide. 

Melinda gives a short nod, her mind thinking about Strike Team Delta. She needs to talk to Coulson. "They're yours," she murmurs to Ward before following after Coulson.

~~*~~

Melinda approaches Coulson's office quietly. He's been in no mood for any sort of discussion the last few days, his temper growing increasingly short. And that's a problem, one that only she can take on. She'd like to think that keeping him honest is one of the big reasons she's on the bus.

She knocks and waits. Hearing nothing, she knocks again. This time there's a gruff, "Come in."

She steps in and closes the door behind her.

"What is it?" Coulson asks without even looking up.

Melinda has never been one for talking. From an early age, she'd been taught to be quiet, unseen, and unnoticed. Coulson's not a man of many words, either, but his mannerism and understanding stillness combine to have everyone around him spilling their guts in minutes. Now it's Melinda's job to turn that around on him.

When she hasn't said anything, hasn't even sat down, Coulson looks up. "What?"

He's definitely looked better. Melinda still doesn't answer.

"Dammit. Sit down. And don't give me that look. They're slacking and I won't have Jimenez endangered because their minds aren't fully engaged," he says.

Melinda sits. "But that's not what this is all about," she replies.

He huffs out a frustrated breath, eyes focusing on the shelf behind her. She knows what's there, what he's staring at. And she knows it's not the obvious pieces, not the ancient tech or fanboy memorabilia. It's a small faux marble cherub, bow clutched in its chubby fingers and a beatific smile under fluffy curls. It's out of place between a James Bond watch and a signed Jackie Robinson baseball; it's been placed to the side but there's still one light shining directly on it. It's a sentimental thing, ridiculous, but it has a deep meaning, a significance that Melinda is only aware of because Natasha had shared the story over warm vodka in a freezing cold safehouse in Belarus.

For all the shit storm that mission had been, Melinda still smiles fondly at the memory. Natasha is the one person that Melinda misses like a phantom limb. Even Ward, with his enthusiasm and youth and amazing refractory period, is no match for Natasha. And sitting here staring silently at Coulson, cataloguing the deeper lines, the higher hairline, the way his eyes are flat… Melinda's so done with this shit.

"Quit staring. It's rude," he says, voice dry.

Instead of answering she just cocks her head, crosses her legs and gazes at him dispassionately.

He caves and ducks his head. That says more than any confession he could make. "What the hell do you expect from me? I can't leave Jimenez out to dry. And there's more going on here than I know." He voice cracks. "Dammit, Mel, I'm locked out of my own records!"

That she hadn't known. 

Her surprise must show because Coulson's slumping back in his chair. "Fuck. You don't know anything, either? I was kind of hoping that you'd been ordered to join us."

"Hill asked me to watch your back because she knew you wouldn't."

"Not sure I have a reason to," he mutters. "Not anymore," he adds, voice low and sad.

"So fix it," she says.

"Look, I'm already on Fury's shit list for the public outing at Union Station and then Skye keeps stepping wrong. Jasper is still pissed at me for that incident." He shakes his head, jaw going tight. "I'm treading on thin ice as it is."

"So what do you need?" she asks, though she's already got an idea, one that has a side benefit solely for Melinda.

"I don't need anything. Just get their heads back in the game. After Cartagena we can figure out some downtime."

Melinda watches Coulson carefully compose himself, watches as he patches the cracks in his armor until he's his usual calm, collected self. The hold he has is fragile, but Melinda's not going to push him. She has another idea.

"They're good kids," she says as she stands.

"I know."

"Maybe you should tell them that?" she suggests.

He shakes his head. "No."

"Fine. But after this mission, I pick the stopover."

Coulson looks at her, his mistrust of her motivation writ large on his face. She schools her expression, keeps her face placid, unreadable.

"No tricks."

"Nope."

"Fine." He waves her out and she goes, plan already germinating.

~~*~~

Cartagena's a near thing. Fitz's simulation misses a major choke point, but thanks to Ward's quick thinking and Coulson's propensity to have backup plans on top of contingency plans, Jimenez and the artifact are safely ensconced in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s protective custody two days later. But Coulson's mood doesn't improve.

Skye settles into the co-pilot's seat next to Melinda who only glances over at her in acknowledgement.

After less than two minutes, Skye breaks the silence. "A.C.'s still pretty pissy."

Melinda doesn't reply because there's no question in Skye's words.

"I think he's sad, May," Skye follows up after a few moments.

Melinda doesn't look at Skye and doesn't sigh, despite the desire to do both.

"I talked to Jemma and we think he's lonely. The holidays can be hard when you're alone. And, since Ward and I have no plans…" she trails off, fishing.

Melinda has no interest in answering questions about her private life.

"Alright, whatever. I talked to the science twins and they agreed that a holiday party would be good. We'll do a Secret Santa gift exchange…"

Melinda turns and looks at Skye.

Who immediately clears her throat but barrels on. "And a traditional dinner, with things from both sides of the pond. We could do something Chinese, too?"

There she goes. Hinting again. Melinda replies, "I'm from San Francisco."

Skye doesn't blush, but her eyes widen. "Um, sorry for assuming."

"Go on," Melinda urges quietly.

"Oh. Right. I thought you might have some suggestions?" Her voice trails off uncertainly again.

Melinda should give Skye some hint that she's on board with all this, how her plans are dovetailing quite nicely with Melinda's own. But long years have instilled in her that the best policy is always to keep her cards close to her chest and this time is no different.

"For?" she turns and gives Skye her undivided attention.

"Um. Well, things that A.C. might like or miss or well… you _know_ anything that'll make him happy again."

Skye's so damn young and yet she's perceptive and caring, her youthful naivete and optimism almost refreshing if Melinda herself weren't too scarred and jaded to appreciate it. "Why?" she asks.

"Why?" Skye parrots.

"Why do you want him to be happy again?" Melinda asks slowly and clearly.

"Because he's been good to me. He _cares._ And not just about me. A.C. was doing good at first. It seemed like he was enjoying his job and relished being back in the field. Now?" She shakes her head. "Now, not so much. I don't know what happened or why, but we're a team and I want everyone to be happy."

Melinda almost smiles. Coulson's done it again. He's got another fledgling who is genuinely loyal to him. If he was so inclined, he could topple S.H.I.E.L.D. from the inside.

"While all those are wonderfully altruistic reasons and no less valid because of their nature, I have a more selfish reason for wanting Coulson back on level ground." She continues, cutting off Skye's attempt to interrupt. "He's distracted, not at his best and that puts the team in danger. I can't have that. It makes my orders difficult."

"Orders?" Skye bristles. "Are you working for someone else?"

Melinda's lip curls despite her intention to keep Skye at arm's length. "Of course not. But A.D. Hill personally asked me to watch Coulson's back. I can't effectively do my job if Coulson's compromised."

Skye shakes her head in confusion. "So, you're in? You'll help?"

"Yes," Melinda agrees.

Skye whoops and offers a fist, but Melinda leaves her hanging.

~~*~~

A couple of days later, they're finishing up a stopover in Oklahoma -- which turned out to be nothing but a group of college kids with more brains than sense, and wasn't it fun to see their faces after Coulson was done with them? -- when Fitz nods at May as she turns toward Coulson's office. The strains of _White Christmas_ start just as she knocks, growing louder as she opens the door.

He's glaring at her, eyes following as she steps up to his desk. "This your idea?"

"The music?" she asks, to clarify.

"Of course the music!" he snaps.

"No, sir. I believe the team is attempting to get into the spirit of the season."

"Oh, for the love of…" he begins. "Fine. Just tell him to mute the sound in here."

"I don't believe he can do that."

"What?"

"I think it's because he tapped into the security systems. No easy way to shut off the sound without shutting off the other systems."

Coulson groans and begins rummaging in his desk drawers. With a triumphant grin, he pulls out a pair of noise-canceling headphones.

Melinda absolutely does _not_ laugh at him. Instead she sets her plan into action.

"Tunisia," she says.

Coulson looks up sharply, eyes narrowed. "What about it?"

"We're on standby. No one's getting far from the bus for the holidays, but you did agree that I could pick our stopover."

"And you chose Tunisia," he says, leaning back in his chair. "Of course you did. What are you planning?"

She leans forward, resting her palms on Coulson's desk. "Little personal, sir. But I intend to have some great food, sleep in a real bed with a real mattress in a place that holds good memories, do some shopping, and, if I'm lucky, indulge in some fantastic sex while I'm at it. You object?"

He inhales through his nose, his lips press tightly together. She knows she's struck a nerve, the only question is whether he'll give in.

"Fine. File the flight plan with Ops and inform A.D. Hill of our status."

"Aye-aye, sir."

"And don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Don't give me that fake 'rule following' Agent May B.S. I do know you better than that. Give me _some_ credit."

"Fine," she says but tosses him a half-assed salute as she strolls out of his office. There's a triumphant smile on her face and she's very glad that she doesn't run into anyone before heading to the cockpit.

~~*~~

During their refueling stopover, which is conveniently in New York City, Melinda takes the opportunity to make a phone call.

_"Romanoff."_

Melinda releases the breath she hasn't realized she is holding. _Way to go,_ she chides herself.

"Romanoff, it's May." She offers her name, then her call sign, and finally finishes with, "We need to talk."

There's an uncomfortably long silence on the other end, but she knows Natasha is still there. _"The Apple store in meatpacking?"_ Natasha asks.

Melinda glances at the schedule, figures she can just about squeeze the meet-up in. "Yeah. In two hours?"

 _"Right."_ Natasha replies, then disconnects. Their phone conversations are never lengthy, but this is terse even for Natasha. Melinda frowns then puts it out of her mind. She has a mission to complete and a plane to refuel all while keeping a certain senior agent from getting a clue.

Luckily, they have four junior agents that seem to major in distraction.

"Skye!" Ward calls from the cargo bay. "Keep your shirt on!" Skye shouts in response. Then Melinda hears a simultaneous "Bloody Hell" and a "Fitz!" erupt from the lab. She dodges as Coulson rushes past, keeping her smile hidden, but it's a near thing. The sudden resumption of the holiday music blasting from all speakers at an excessive volume adds to the cacophony and May sneaks away with little effort.

Melinda steps into the Apple store, eyes scanning the place but she doesn't catch sight of red hair. She's punctual so expects Natasha any moment. She moves further into the open and uncrowded space. It's not an ideal meeting place, is more suited to a drop than a conversation, but she really has no idea how Natasha will react to what Melinda has to say, so a very public space is for the best.

She stops in front of an iPad and seems to be intrigued by the display when, in fact, her eyes are on the exits.

"I pegged you as more of a Starkpad gal," is whispered at her back, a sure reminder of just how skilled Natasha is. And, dammit, reacting to that isn't appropriate _at all._

"Natasha," Melinda says, turning.

"Melinda," she replies, there's no smile on her face, but her eyes are welcoming. "It's good to see a friendly face."

"It's good to see you, too. How's the new team working out?"

Natasha looks thoughtful for a moment before answering. "I doubt you contacted me to chat about Tony Stark or Steve Rogers. What's up, Mel?"

"Can we go for a walk?"

Natasha shrugs. "This location is safe." But she's at Melinda's side as they hit the sidewalk.

"How's Barton?" Melinda asks as soon as they've joined the stream of pedestrians.

"Again, not why we're talking."

"Actually, that was closer to the truth of it than not," Melinda counters.

"Well then. He's still Clint."

"What does that even mean?" Melinda asks. She isn't used to Natasha being this closed off.

Natasha rests a hand on Melinda's shoulder to stop her. "It means that I haven't heard from you in months and then when I do it's like this. It means that I heard through the grapevine that you're back in the field and you didn't tell me yourself. What's going on with you?"

Melinda takes Natasha's hand and tugs her over to a nearby taco truck. " _Dos tacos al pastor y dos tacos de carnitas y une grande horchata_ ," Melinda orders, grateful that Natasha is going along so easily.

Natasha takes the tacos, the suspicion in her expression lessening with every smile Melinda shoots her direction.

Their shoulders brush occasionally as they stroll toward a nearby park passing the drink between them in companionable silence. Something in Melinda unknots; the tension she'd been carrying dissipates at Natasha's seemingly easy acceptance of her silence.

Over tacos and horchata Melinda reveals the biggest secret on the bus: Phil Coulson didn't die in the Battle of New York.

Natasha takes the news better than Melinda expected. " _Tvoyu mat_!" Her jaw clenches and she glares at Melinda. "It figures that no one but Phil could talk you out of the dungeon."

Melinda looks away. "Hill asked me to watch his back. _After_ telling me that his status was classified and that the Avengers didn't -- couldn't -- know." She turns back to meet Natasha's hot gaze. "I'm not stupid. I knew exactly what that meant. _Who_ was being kept in the dark. I figured it wouldn't matter. That Phil wouldn't agree to keeping the secret."

She shrugs, then continues. "And I was convinced he had every intention of revealing himself when he recruited a Rising Tide hacker and made damn sure he was on the news at Union Station." She sighs. "But I was wrong. He's… he's just doing his job same as ever. Got the whole team wrapped around his finger."

"Including you," Natasha added.

"That goes without saying," Melinda huffs out. She's known Phil since she was a wide-eyed recruit, younger than Skye. "There's something off about Phil. I mean besides his own self-doubt and the new, softer, gentler Agent Coulson persona."

"What do you mean?"

"He's been moody lately. Tense. Snappish," Melinda says, thinking about the last few weeks. "Skye thinks he's lonely. Or sad."

"Do you?"

"I don't know. But I know that this isn't right. And I'm violating orders to make it right."

"What do you want me to do?" Natasha asks, hand resting on Melinda's.

"Meet us in Tunisia. For the holidays. Bring Barton. If he can't shake Phil out of whatever's eating at him, no one can."

Natasha stiffens beside her. "I'm not sure…"

Melinda does not let the surprise she feels show. Instead she calmly turns and looks at the woman next to her, studying her carefully. "What are you unsure about?"

Natasha doesn't meet her eyes. "I just don't think I should subject Clint to this news."

"What? Why not? I thought Clint, of all people, would want to know."

Natasha is staring into the distance, eyes unfocused. And for just a moment she lets Melinda see how much she's hurting. "He's not good, is he?" she asks, reaching for Natasha's hand and clasping it.

She shakes her head. "I'd like to say he's holding it together, but I'm not sure it's not all an act." She turns her hand and entwines their fingers. "Clint's a survivor. He can do nothing less. But this time…" She doesn't sigh, just looks down at their hand. "He's plodding along, adopting strays, getting into trouble outside the job. Not bad, mind. It's just… he's pissing people off and I can't tell if he's doing it on purpose or if he's truly unaware of how his behavior looks from the outside." She straightens. Takes her hand back and tucks a strand of bright red hair behind her ear. "He's shut me out."

"Well, hell!" Melinda blurts out. It's worse than she's feared. "Goddammit!" she growls. "Fuckity fuck!"

"Yeah," Natasha agrees, and she ends up giving Melinda a sad smile. "I want to tell him. He deserves to know, but not if Phil has left him behind. That'd be cruel."

Melinda inhales sharply. "He hasn't, Tash. I know he hasn't."

"Then how do you explain it?" she asks, voice barely audible.

"I can't. But I know one thing. Phil Coulson doesn't run from his problems. If you and Clint are his present--"

"What?" Natasha snorts.

Melinda elbows her. "You heard me. We exchanged names for Secret Santa. I rigged the draw to make sure I got Phil." She gives Natasha a wicked grin. "Thus, this conversation."

Natasha cocks her head. "And without Phil?"

"I'm not sure," Melinda replies. "It's not like I knew where I stood with you."

"Are all senior agents in S.H.I.E.L.D. hopeless?"

Melinda shrugs, feels a flush creeping up her neck. "Probably."

Then Natasha does something completely unexpected. She leans over and drops a kiss on the corner of Melinda's mouth. "It's okay. I know a spy or two who seem to have a thing for stoic agent types," she murmurs.

Melinda swallows, eyes wide as she turns. Natasha's close, her expression so filled with hope that Melinda's throat closes. Her phone begins to ring in her pocket shattering the moment and Natasha abruptly stands.

"Text me the details and we'll be there. Even if I have to bind and gag Clint."

Melinda nods, grateful, eyes following Natasha's retreating back until she disappears in the crowd.

"May," she says into the phone. She listens to Ward for a minute before cutting him off. "I'll be there in forty-five." She cuts the call and sighs, praying that this isn't going to be a disaster.

~~*~~

It's not a disaster and May finds herself having to fight a smile more than she would have expected. The kids are alright, just green and, in Skye's case, terribly naive. But what they don't have in experience, they more than make up for in enthusiasm, throwing themselves into everything, including decorating the plane.

When Fitz, Simmons, and Skye learn of their destination they immediately begin a barrage of questions and excited chatter. Fitz demands, but from him it's more of a very politely worded request, that they stop in London and pick up a few 'necessities' that absolutely cannot be purchased anywhere else. Simmons chimes in her agreement pointing out how 'dreadful' the holidays would be without a proper pudding and crackers. As a distraction, Ward winks at Melinda then launches into the most outlandish tale of running an Op in Tunisia. It's made up out of whole cloth, but the trio hangs on his every word. Coulson frowns, eyes closing briefly before he turns and leaves.

Skye notices immediately and only Melinda's hand on her arm keeps her from following. "But," she objects.

"Leave him to it," Melinda whispers.

"He doesn't deserve to be alone," Skye argues.

Melinda looks around, eyes lingering on each member of their team. "He's not. He'll figure it out. But I know Coulson and it'll be for the best if he works it out on his own."

Skye looks unhappy, but Simmons snorts behind them, setting off Fitz, drawing Skye back into their circle of warmth and laughter.

~~*~~

"Coulson," Phil answers the comm.

"What the hell are you doing, Agent?" Fury asks, one eye glaring through the screen.

"I am sitting in my office. What does it look like I'm doing, sir?"

"Can it. I can still bust your ass back to trainee. You know what I mean."

"My team and I are on stand down. We are not doing anything at the present time."

"Except flying to Tunisia," Fury replies.

"Well, yes, that is what the flight plan says."

Fury's right eye twitches and Phil knows that he's gotten under his skin.

"Dammit, Coulson. Why Tunisia?"

Phil shrugs. "Agent May picked the destination. You'll have to ask her, sir."

"As if I'd get a better answer out of May than you," Fury says, shaking his head. "I don't want you getting any ideas."

"Ideas?" Phil asks, though he knows damn good and well what Fury is talking about.

"Keep your head down. No heroics, nothing. You and your team are still need to know. Do I make myself clear?"

"Clear as day, sir," Phil replies, but his insides are tight, gut swirling with all the objections he's not raising. It's not the first time he wonders what he's doing here and, most importantly, _why._

"It's for the best, Phil. Trust me," Fury, no, _Nick_ says.

"Yes, sir," Phil answers, but he doesn't trust Nick, not anymore. He _can't,_ not when he knows things are being kept from him. And what's even worse is that he's forced to keep his existence from--. He cuts that thought off, ruthlessly shoving it down. Instead he meets Fury's gaze and asks, "Is that all?"

"Hell, yes."

"Good day, sir," Phil says, tone dry and emotionless. He only breathes after he disconnects.

 _'Dammit!'_ he curses. He has access to none of his preferred coping mechanisms, hasn't since he 'died' and it's getting old, all of it, but the holes everywhere he turns are the worst. He feels like Swiss cheese. He takes a drink of cold coffee and returns to his research. He might be allowed nothing else, but he's determined to defeat Centipede and bury every last one of those fuckers. It won't fill even a single hole in his messed-up psyche, but it'll feel damn good bringing them down.

~~*~~

They park the bus at the Habib Bourguiba International airport and drive a short distance to the beach. Phil stares at the place Melinda has procured for them. It's in a gated community with an open-air pool and a private beach, the sandstone exteriors and tiled roofs blending in with the native architecture, but this community is full of ex-pats and non-natives. The many Mercedes-Benz in the parking lot making it very clear that they are in an area for diplomats and the elite. This is not the usual S.H.I.E.L.D. provided accommodation.

He arches an eyebrow at Melinda and she shrugs. "I called in a favor."

"Or two," he adds.

"Or two," she agrees, not smiling, but her eyes lighten. Phil almost smiles himself. He won't admit it, but this break is a good idea. He needs to be somewhere away from anything remotely associated with the job and where those thoughts inadvertently lead.

The 'kids', as he's come to think of them, tumble into the condo, Skye, for once, at a loss for words. She tugs Simmons into their shared room and soon enough they both come out in swimsuits, their grins nearly bigger than their suits. Phil does not smile at the way both Ward and Fitz nearly fall over each other rushing into their shared room to change.

The four of them chatter excitedly as they step off the covered patio and onto the white sand. He's not going to say anything about it being far too cold to even consider swimming. They're all old enough to figure it out for themselves, after all, and he feels enough like the 'dad' Skye teases him about being most of the time. He stares for too long and misses Melinda's approach. 

"We were never that young," she says in her quiet voice from behind him. He doesn't jump, but it's a near thing. He's gotten better, but he's still pretty twitchy about his back.

"Speak for yourself."

"C'mon, Phil," she says. "You weren't that young when I _met_ you."

He doesn't miss that she's back to familiar ground, the line they don't cross while working gone. He's glad for it, has missed having a friend, and Melinda's always been good at telling him what he needs to hear and not just what he wants.

"I hid my failings better."

She snorts, a gloriously inelegant sound, and something in Phil eases. Melinda's getting better and Phil will, too. Eventually. 

He turns to look at her. She's changed out of her leathers; the sari's vivid reds make her olive skin glow. "Nice," he offers.

She tosses a scarf over her head and nods her thanks.

"You going somewhere?"

"The market. Someone has to be responsible and get food."

"If you'll wait, I can go with you."

She shakes her head. "Don't worry about it. I know how you are about shopping and I'd rather enjoy myself."

He ducks his head. "It was only the one time."

She almost laughs. "Once was enough," she says, then waves as she, too, steps off the patio and onto the sand.

Phil sighs. He has no plans and no idea what to do with himself. He glances at the tablet sitting on the kitchen table. He could work.

He pulls away from that thought. He's on stand down, dammit. He decides he needs to explore, scope out their surroundings, the neighbors, case the grounds. It's still work, in a way, but at least he'll be getting fresh air.

Stepping into his room, he frowns. A single. Just like his life. He doesn't like where his head is right now, but nothing he does seems to pull him out of the melancholy he'd fallen into. He changes into olive linen slacks and a loose cotton button down before stepping into woven sandals. He tops the outfit off with a Cubbies ball cap and steps out the front door, looking every bit the part of wealthy American tourist.

~~*~~

He has to concede that his mood does improve over the next two days. The weather holds, staying in the 70s, so they all spend time sprawling on the beach, basking in the sunshine, though no one attempts swimming again. He does watch as Ward tries to teach a wetsuit-wearing Skye how to surf. He ends up cheering along with Fitz and Simmons when she stays upright for an entire two minutes.

Melinda disappears for most of the day and returns with a spring in her step. Phil chuckles to himself as he remembers Melinda explaining her plans. At least someone is getting some.

Phil strolls alone on the beach, eyes distant as he stares toward the horizon. He catches up on his reading, finishing two books, and even manages to increase the distance he can jog without gasping for breath. He's not back to 100%, but he's getting closer, and running on the wet sand is more rewarding than the treadmill on the bus. 

Despite Melinda believing that Phil hates to shop, he gets up early Christmas morning and goes to the market. He finds the stalls intriguing and procures unique trinkets and small gifts for each team member. He's pretty pleased with his excursion until he stumbles across an ancient bow. It's gorgeous. It was obviously well-loved in its day, it's carvings worn and the grip smooth, almost like silk. Without examining his reason, he buys it, secreting it away in his room from prying eyes.

When he surfaces, it's to find the living area transformed. They've transported their fully-decorated Christmas tree from the bus and Fitz has added Christmas music, but at a tasteful volume.

"What in the--?" he asks.

"Surprise!" they all echo. Melinda even emerges from the kitchen, a half-smile on her face.

"It's Christmas, not my birthday," Phil chides, but he's smiling, an honest to god full smile.

"We should open presents!" Fitz and Simmons clap their hands and Skye nods.

Ward and Melinda roll their eyes, but they each look to Phil for agreement.

"Do you need help in the kitchen?" he has the grace to ask.

"Me?" Melinda says. "I'm not cooking. That's all your boy band. I'm doing the dishes."

"Oh. Right." He turns back to his room. "Let me get a few things first."

Instead of wrapping paper, he had wrapped their presents in scarves or handkerchiefs or, in the case of a set of antique throwing stars for Ward, in a linen shirt. Phil is pleased with himself when the gifts are a hit. Seeing Skye's smile is reward enough, but nothing beats getting a smile out of Melinda. He also gets a hug and a cheek kiss which makes him duck his head to hide his happy smile.

While Fitz and Simmons are bickering over the 'proper' way to unwrap a present, Melinda's cell buzzes. Phil glances up, but she waves his attention away and steps onto the patio to take the call. He means to ask her about it afterward, but forgets. He is caught up in the laughter over the anonymous gag gifts, especially when Ward gets lube and a rather large dildo and hastily thrusts it back in the package all while turning bright red and stammering like a middle schooler. It's actually rather adorable.

Phil suspects Melinda of pranking them all because that's something she used to do. He hopes that's the case. It's good to think that she's come that far. She's passing out presents to everyone but Phil when the doorbell rings.

Phil freezes as Melinda rises.

"I've got this," she says and Phil knows there's something up as she answers the door, but never in a million years could he have imagined _this._

"Merry Christmas," Melinda and Natasha echo while Clint stays frozen, eyes locked on Phil.

He nearly trips as he stands and makes his way to the trio. He wants to touch but keeps his hands at his side. He can't read Natasha, but Clint is an open book. He's lost and confused and angry, but most of all he's ready to flee. Only Natasha's hand curled around his wrist keeps him in place.

Swallowing and licking dry lips, he forces a strained, "Clint. Natasha," out before Natasha releases Clint and hugs Phil. 

His heart is hammering in his chest, he can't catch his breath and his head is spinning by the time the too-long and far-too-short hug ends. "It's good to see you, sir," Natasha says, voice husky and private. "You were missed."

"Oh," he breathes out as a heady warmth engulfs him. He's incoherent with emotion.

Then he turns to grasp Clint's hand. He wants to tug the archer into a hug and never let go, but Clint flinches, then takes a step back. Then he runs a hand through his hair before gritting out, "What the fuck?" He's staring at Natasha now. "You _knew_ and didn't fuckin' tell me?"

"Clint," she begins, voice soothing.

"No!" he blurts out. "I do not need to be coddled! Dammit! We talked about this!" He whirls on Phil, eyes wild and heated. "And you! You can crawl right back under whatever rock you've been hiding under!" He adds, "Sir," before turning and bolting.

The silence in the room is deafening.

Phil shakes himself out of a daze when Natasha stops him. He is halfway to the door and hadn't even realized it. Looking at her in confusion, he asks, "I owe him, Natasha."

She sighs. "Yes, but give him time?"

"How long have you known?"

Natasha glances at Melinda who meets Phil's gaze calmly. "Since our New York stopover." She's unapologetic.

Phil turns back to Natasha. "And you decided to spring this on him without warning?" He's nearly growling. Yes, he's angry at himself and at Fury, but Natasha _knows_ Clint better than that. "You didn't think it might go badly?"

"A.C.?" Skye interrupts.

"What?" he barks.

"Whoa, don't bite my head off!" She looks at him with wide eyes, but sets her chin and steps forward. "It seems to me, you might say 'thank you'. I don't really understand what's going on, but I do recognize The Black Widow and Hawkeye and I'm guessing they weren't cleared to know you were alive." She's up in Phil's face now, challenging him. "And I'm thinking that's a damn shame. And wrong."

She glances over her shoulder at Melinda. "But someone cared enough to fix it, so you ought to be thankful and figure out how to make it right." Skye looks back at him, cocking her head to study him like he's some particularly intricate encryption scheme. "I know how I'd feel if someone I trusted lied to me for this long. That's gotta hurt, A.C. But you're not a bad guy. There had to be a reason, so talk to him. I bet he'll forgive you."

Phil looks around, takes in his new team and then his gaze lands on Melinda. She's standing upright, open, unafraid. "Dammit!" he hisses. "If the Director--"

"If Fury finds out, we'll handle him," Natasha vows and Phil knows that 'we' doesn't mean Clint. Oh, God. She means _Stark_. And Rogers. And Banner.

"Do they know?" Phil asks, fretting. This has all gotten out of control and he's standing here worrying about Fury when he should be worrying about Clint.

"I sent them a Christmas present. They'll know in a few hours."

"Shit. That wasn't--"

"Wasn't what? Wasn't in the agreement? Wasn't part of the plan?" Natasha's voice goes cold. "As far as I can tell, _none_ of this was part of the plan. And you were going to continue the ruse." She inhales sharply and straightens, shaking off the emotion she let get the better of her. "I don't believe you wanted to hurt us. I can't believe that of you. So, like your pretty little hacker said, explain it to me."

Phil blinks, looks around the room, grasps for a port in the face of Storm Natasha, but he doesn't deserve safe haven from his actions and he can't meet anyone's eyes.

"I-I don't have a good answer," he stammers out, heart breaking at the way Natasha closes down. As if she can read Natasha's mind, Melinda steps up to them and presses a warm palm to Natasha's shoulder.

"I doubt he means that in the way it sounds," Melinda murmurs.

"Oh, I don't!" Phil interjects. "Something's going on with me and Fury won't give me my files and there was Tahiti, and yet, things don't add up…"

His voice trails off when Natasha cocks her head and gives him an assessing gaze. "Phil Coulson doesn't do flustered." It's merely an observation, but it stings; highlights just how not himself he is. "You really are different, sir."

Phil sighs, then nods. "I'm trying. Been trying. But--"

"But he died, Tash, and that changes a person," Melinda offers in a quiet, gentle tone.

Phil blinks at the affection between them. That is unexpected and it makes his gut give a little twist. He'd thought… His eyes dart between Melinda and Ward.

She shrugs.

"Fury said jump and you asked how high, didn't you?" Natasha asks. "Same as always, sir."

"I… yes?"

He swears Natasha almost smiles then. "At least I know you're _you._ "

"Who else would I--?" he begins, almost glaring at her, then stops. "Oh. Well, alright. Yes." He clears his throat. "I'm me. At least I think so," he ends, voice soft and uncertain. He's so fucked if he's some Asgardian tech and doesn't know it.

Then Natasha tugs him into a fierce hug, whispering as she does, "Go find Clint. Try to be a little more eloquent, especially when you confess your feelings."

Phil stiffens. "My f-f-feelings?"

She doesn't release him. "Of course. You don't think I dragged him all this way so you both can continue being clueless idiots, do you?"

Natasha pulls away, her knowing smile making him blush. She gives him their address -- they're conveniently in the same complex -- and pushes him toward the door.

Before he leaves, he turns to Melinda and says, "Thank you." Then he offers his own smirk. "But I'm not going down alone when Fury comes calling."

That makes Melinda and the others laugh. Buoyed by their support, he heads out.

~~*~~

He should know that Clint wouldn't return to their condo. When he runs, he's almost impossible to find. Luckily for Phil, he hasn't forgotten Clint's habits and tells.

He finds him sitting atop the empty lifeguard station.

It's an awkward climb and not the ideal location for their talk, but Phil will take what he can get. And right now, that's only Clint Barton's back.

"I'm sorry, Clint," he starts. "I wanted to tell you. And I _would_ have. I couldn't stand the lies, not any of it. But I'm… well, I'm not the same. There's parts of me that don't fit. Like my skin's too loose in places and too tight in others. I have holes in my memory, and then there are the memories that aren't quite right. I kind of freaked out a little. And in the process I put off dealing with the things that matter."

"Phil Coulson freaked out?" Clint snorts, but still doesn't turn around.

"It's not unheard of."

When Clint stays silent, Phil adds, "I lost it when… well, after Pegasus." He takes a shaky breath. "I yelled at Hill _and_ Fury, then I got Natasha. I didn't know what else to do, except I knew we had to get you back."

"You should have had me killed, sir. That's S.O.P."

"Not for me. Not for my team," Phil shoots back, anger burning through him. "I don't leave a man behind and I sure as hell don't assassinate a victim of mind-control!"

"Still as self-righteous as ever. Better watch it, sir. Cap might want his morals back."

"Clint, can I look at you?"

"You know what I look like, sir."

"But it's damned hard to apologize to the back of your head."

"I don't _need_ an apology."

"But I need--"

"You need to leave. You need to go back to your new team and you need to give up trying to fix me!" Clint snaps.

"No! Never. Dammit, Clint! Just no. I fucked up. I didn't have my head on straight. I'm thinking dying will do that, but it might be something else. Fury's keeping secrets from me, too, and I have nightmares and things don't work like they used to, but most of all I can't stop thinking about you. I missed you. I _miss_ you. Clint, please?" he's nearly begging and has to breathe long and slow to hold back the sharp prick in his eyes.

Clint's shoulders tense, but he does slowly turn.

And Phil's heart shatters.

Clint has looked better after being captured. He's hollow-eyed and too thin, the dark circles under his eyes nearly purple. Despite everything -- the tightness in his muscles, the shaggy hair, abused lips, and the raw, broken gaze, all of it so unlike the Clint Barton he knew -- he's still the most gorgeous man Phil's ever seen. And that attraction, it's simmered between them since Phil first recruited Clint, but now it's cold comfort when faced with the open wound in Clint's eyes.

Phil doesn't think. He's so tired of second guessing himself, he just reacts and tugs Clint close. Clint stiffens, doesn't bend, but Phil is insistent, encouraging, and not above using every weapon in his arsenal to fix this.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes once again and he'll keep apologizing until hell freezes over if that's what it takes.

"Sir--"

"Phil. My name is Phil."

Clint sags a little, giving way and Phil pulls him tighter, hugging him close. "Phil," he croaks and the sound is broken, nearly a sob.

Phil doesn't scream or cry out, he prides himself on his control, but he has to admit to a little gasp of his own when Clint crumples. "Dammit, Clint. I'm so fuckin' sorry. I swear I never meant to leave you. I just couldn't _think._ That bastard _took_ you. He took you and I couldn't let him keep you." Phil's squeezing Clint tight, probably too hard, but he can't let go, finds that he's shaking; they both are.

"You took on a god, sir." Clint's voice is full of recrimination, with too many emotions layered underneath his words.

"I knew Natasha would get you back," is his answer.

"And if she hadn't?"

This is where the rubber meets the road, the confession that Phil swore to himself he'd make if he ever got a second chance. "Then it would have been better for Loki to kill me, because I wouldn't have been strong enough to stop you."

That makes Clint pull back. He's frowning, confused. "What the fuck? How could you even say that? You were… _are_ always one step ahead of both of us. Of course, you'd have been strong enough to take me _and_ Nat down."

Phil shakes his head. "No. Clint. Not you. I couldn't have done it."

"I don't…" he begins.

And Phil leans forward, presses a kiss to those chapped, bitten lips.

Clint's eyes widen and he doesn't kiss Phil back, but his hands, those strong, callused, _perfect_ hands spasm and grab Phil's biceps holding him in place as Clint gapes at him. "What the--?"

Phil inhales. He's done assuming; done with wanting; so done with thinking he can't have. He swallows and gives a sharp nod. "I'm compromised when it comes to you, Clint."

"That's not--"

Clint can't seem to form a coherent sentence and Phil's heart gives a painful lurch before speeding up as he stares into those kaleidoscope eyes. "It's been _years_ so please don't discount what I know."

"How?" He shakes his head, still wrapping his head around Phil's assertion. "But?"

Clint is usually a mouthy, sarcastic ass, and it should feel good to think that Phil has left him speechless. The only problem with that is Phil still doesn't know where he stands, no matter what Natasha had implied. He smirks, just a bit, before leaning in again, lips brushing Clint's as he murmurs, "I've been in lust with you since I met you but it's been so much more since Budapest."

Clint's face blooms. There's no other way to describe the transformation as his smile widens and his eyes lighten. He's sitting straighter and the lost, hunted look is nearly gone. This isn't a cure-all, Phil knows that there's a whole lot of shit to work through, and they will, but all of that can wait. "You want me?" he asks, swallowing as his lashes flutter.

"So much, Clint. After… well, dying, I swore I would tell you no matter the outcome."

"Then why all the secrecy? Why did you let me believe…" He pulls away, the frown back. His eyes snap and spark. "I _grieved_. I fuckin' mourned you. Why would you let me think--"

Clint's even more gorgeous like this. Even if his righteous ire is focused firmly on at Phil, Phil can't help but smile. "God, you're beautiful!" he blurts out and Clint stops speaking mid-sentence.

"Stop that!" he growls, but there isn't any real heat behind his words.

"Stop what?" Phil asks innocently, head cocked as he grins, most likely goofily, at Clint.

"That!" He waves his finger at Phil. "That. You. Me. I don't--"

Phil smiles and leans forward. He can't help himself. He kisses Clint again. This time Clint kisses back. And there's no way to describe the kiss as anything but _fierce,_ fiery, so hot, Phil's brain melts. His blood is singing by the time he retreats for air. Phil's more than a little dazed, sure that his smile has moved well past goofy into out and out giddy because that's how Clint makes him feel. "I lov--"

Clint stops him, two fingers pressing into Phil's lips. "As much as I want to hear those words and I want this, want _everything_ you're willing to give, I…" he hesitates. "I'm not fully myself, not who you remember." Clint shakes his head when Phil tries to argue. "I'm not," he vows, "but I'm getting there. This has thrown me for a loop. A good one, but I'm gonna need some time to process it. It's a big change, Phil."

"Huge," Phil agrees, lips barely moving against Clint's fingers.

Clint drops his fingers and just stares.

"But worth it. I swear I'll give you time. I've waited this long, I can wait longer. Just tell me you'll think about it. About us."

"You mean it, don't you? Everything you said. You want a relationship… with me?" Clint still doesn't see just how much he means to Phil, how valuable he is to S.H.I.E.L.D., to the Avengers. He can't see how amazing he is, and Loki can't have helped any of that, especially with Phil unable to support him in the aftermath.

Phil licks his lips and just looks at Clint. "I have for a long time, Clint. But that Phil Coulson was too consumed with the job. I was 'by the book' and having a family wasn't in the job description. But--"

"But?" Clint asks, still unsure, but hanging on every word.

"But I realized, almost too late, that I already had a family. You. Natasha. Nick. Melinda. Hell, even Hill. If something happened to any one of you, I wouldn't be objective. I couldn't be."

Phil reaches up to slide his thumb along Clint's jawline. "I don't want to be objective about you. I want to do some very subjective things with you." He gives Clint a wicked grin as Clint groans.

"That was terrible." But Clint is fighting a smile and Phil feels like he could walk on air.

Clint leans into Phil for a moment, then pulls back. "I mean it. About needing time."

"I know."

"You'll wait?"

"For as long as you need, but I'm not getting any younger."

"Still hot as hell, sir," Clint murmurs, his eyes giving Phil the once-over.

Phil flushes in response. He has no defense against Clint, can't keep his composure at all. "Would you like to join us for dinner?"

"You're offering to introduce me to your new team?" Again, Clint sounds utterly disbelieving.

Phil doesn't sigh. "No, Clint. I plan on making you hide under the table for scraps," he bites out. "Of course I want you to meet them."

Clint looks away and Phil barely keeps in his sigh. "It's fine if you don't want to."

"It's not that. I'm… just… I'll show up if I can, k?"

"Whatever you need," Phil says again. He'll keep saying it until Clint believes it.

"Well, then you should head back."

"Trying to get rid of me?" But Phil understands Clint and gives him a genuine smile. "It's fine. I do need to go before they send out a search party. That could get messy."

Clint chuckles. He leans in for a soft press of lips, then takes off, easily dropping down to the sand and jogging away. Phil watches until he disappears around the cove.

~~*~~

Phil walks in a half-daze, mind swirling as he debates returning to the condo or staying away longer. He's not sure he'll be good company. It's then that he looks up. Without thinking, he'd returned to the condo and is standing at the bottom of the front steps. Might as well go in. He hadn't been kidding about a search party getting messy. When he steps inside, he can't withhold a smile. Before he'd given everything up for S.H.I.E.L.D. and now maybe it's time that he keeps something for himself.

"A.C.!" Skye greets, popping up from the table to drag him closer. "We saved you some." As she pushes him into a chair, Fitz and Simmons bicker about what to serve him.

Before he can answer, an overflowing plate is set in front of him and his wine glass is filled. He glances around the table, before asking, "I hope you didn't wait for me?"

"Of course not." "Nope!" "Wouldn't think of it, sir." "We wanted to..." "But didn't." All of his team speak at once, echoing the same sentiment. Despite their protests, their plates are full, not a single one hadn't waited.

He lifts his glass and offers a toast from the heart: "To family."

"Cheers!" they reply before everyone digs into the impromptu feast.

Natasha nudges his foot with hers, a brief flash of worry as she meets Phil's gaze all she'll allow. Phil taps her foot with his, a simple 'all clear' to let her know that Clint will show when he's ready and not before. As much as he'd wanted to drag Clint back here and introduce him to everyone, that wouldn't have gone over well. Besides Phil had promised Clint time and he's going to give the archer all of it that he wants to take.

The food is delicious, helped along by the heady, rich red wine and surprisingly easy company. Natasha answers or deflects all of Skye's questions with her usual grace while Fitz and Simmons regale the table with hilarious tales about each other. Phil even offers a couple of his favorite holiday memories while Natasha takes advantage of the younger team members' hero worship to captivate with an old Russian folk tale. Phil had missed Natasha and her mesmerizing, husky voice.

He catches Ward staring, eyes darting between Natasha and Melinda, and sighs to himself. Looks like the young specialist hadn't heeded Phil's warning about sleeping with a teammate. He'd intervene, but he honestly has his own problems and Melinda's more than capable of handling her own life. Except for that, the meal goes down easy and Phil notices he's smiled more throughout dinner than he has in the past six months. It's a good feeling.

When they're contemplating dessert and coffee, there's a sharp knock on the door and Phil's heart leaps like a gazelle. From the way Natasha blinks, she's as surprised as he is that Clint had capitulated so quickly. Phil waves everyone to stay put as he gets up to open the door, wide smile falling when it's not Clint at the door but Fury and Sitwell.

Fury strides into the room, hands clasped behind his back. "Well, isn't this a cozy little scene?" He rounds on Phil who's busy asking Jasper, _'What the hell?'_

"It's the holidays, sir. Of course the team would spend it together."

"Hmmmm. Since when does your team include the Black Widow?"

"She's not," Melinda pipes up. "Agent Romanoff and I happened to meet in the market today. And I invited her." She gives Natasha a sideways glance. "Friends do that."

Fury pivots toward May and Natasha stands. "So this is all a happy coincidence? Where's Barton, then?"

Phil's throat goes dry. He prays Fury's question is genuine and he hasn't already bagged Clint.

"Clint prefers to spend the holidays alone," Natasha answers. 

"Or inebriated," Jasper mutters and Phil glares at him.

Fury crosses his arms over his chest, anger radiating from every tense muscle. "Let me get this straight. You conveniently stumble across an 'old friend' and invite her to a cozy dinner despite knowing that it violated orders?"

Fitz, Simmons, and Skye are looking bewildered while Natasha and May have gone cold and Ward is about to do something stupid. Like argue.

Phil huffs out a breath. "Enough!" he barks, pulling Fury's attention to himself. "Sir," he adds belatedly. "You don't get to bust them. This is on me. No one else."

"Just on you, Coulson?" Fury's voice goes quiet, takes on a dark undertone. But Phil has known Fury for a long time. And he's died. He's not afraid. Not now. Memory of Clint's lips on his own buoys Phil's strength.

"I'm done with hiding. I've had enough of lying. Whatever the catalyst, I am done with this charade."

"You're done when I say you are."

Phil straightens, challenges Fury with his gaze as he crosses his arms, posture mimicking Fury's. "No. I've been your good little soldier. Your secret. I have given up everything for S.H.I.E.L.D., for _you_ , Marcus. No more. I deserve a life, too."

" _This_ is your life, Cheese. The one you chose."

"That was a long time ago and I. . . ." He hesitates. His reasons for signing up for this madness are his own and Marcus knows each and every one, so Phil doesn't finish that thought. "I've changed," he states.

"I can see that."

Phil glances over his shoulder, realizes that his team has his back. Whatever he decides they'll support him. "You saved me. Gave me a second chance. Why are you surprised I'm taking advantage of it?"

"You always were a goddamned optimist, Cheese." Fury's glare softens. "I will end him if he hurts you," he says, voice only for Phil's ears.

"That's what this was all about?" Phil asks, mind boggling. "You were protecting me?"

"Among other things," Fury replies. "You know me better than that."

"You'll read me in?"

Fury shakes his head. "Nope. Not on your life."

"Marcus?"

"Decisions were made. I stand by them."

"But--"

"No. You can keep your team and the bus, but Barton and Romanoff stay right where they are."

"How the hell. . .," Phil begins. He's getting angry now. What good will it do to have confessed his feelings if he never gets to even _see_ Clint?

"They're Avengers. You're my one good eye. I would think you can manage something." Fury gets in Phil's face. "And if you can't, then you must not have wanted it all that badly."

"Goddammit, Marcus!" Phil hisses. Fury's thrown down the gauntlet, is _daring_ Phil. But that's the thing with someone that knows you so well. And there's no doubt Fury is fully aware of what he's doing. Phil wonders if he'd planned the whole damn thing and had simply been waiting for Phil to get his head out of his ass. It's not like he doesn't know exactly how Phil feels about Clint.

Fury has a wicked glint in his eye as he steps back. "May. Romanoff. With me!" he barks before turning and striding out, his leather duster snapping behind him. Both women follow at a brisk pace, leaving Phil to try to explain to the others.

~~*~~

Phil stumbles through a series of words that bear a passing resemblance to an explanation, except he leaves out any mention of emotional entanglement. He's proud that he trips over Clint's name only once and manages to deflect most of Skye's more probing and _completely_ inappropriate questions. He absolutely does not blush at Ward's smirk and is relieved and ridiculously grateful that Fury doesn't keep Natasha and Melinda for all that long. Their return momentarily distracts the team from Phil. But, the glint in Natasha's eyes makes him wonder just what Fury had said and whether he purposefully left Phil to face his team without backup as penance for his rebellion.

When he's had enough of the ruckus; his exasperated huff and frustrated glare silences the rest of the inquiry and the remainder of the evening and the following day are quiet, allowing him the appearance of peace. Phil uses the time to start reading the first edition Dashiell Hammett Melinda had given him. He doesn't get far since he can't settle and every noise he hears makes him perk up, heart fluttering with hope. After both Natasha and Melinda arch an eyebrow at him for the third time, he blurts out, "I'm going for a run!"

Skye looks up from her laptop and waves at him, while Fitz and Simmons call out, "Have fun, sir!" without looking up from whatever they have their heads bowed over. Ward gives him a short nod, barely glancing up from sharpening his new knife as Melinda asks, "Want some company, sir?"

"No, that's fine," he grits out. "After all I've been eating, I couldn't keep up with you." It's a terrible deflection, but he can't sit still any longer. His skin feels too loose and too tight all at the same time; the scar on his chest itching fiercely.

He changes and steps onto the covered patio from his bedroom. The salty breeze hits his face and he inhales deeply, still grateful that he _can_. He begins his warm up, loosens muscles tight from inactivity and too much uncertainty. Just the act of stretching helps him find his scattered patience. And, of course, that's exactly the moment that Clint Barton decides to show up.

Phil doesn't startle; he'd heard someone approaching which meant Clint wanted to give him a head's up. The warning doesn't help when Clint's giving him a positively sinful leer, the slow drag of his eyes up and down Phil's body as he licks his lips steals Phil's breath. He can't believe that Clint finds him attractive. He's a balding, middle-aged man…

"Don't do that," Clint says.

Phil looks around wondering who he's talking to.

Clint stalks forward, his eyes fond as he shakes his head. "Just like you said, _sir,_ please don't discount what I know."

Phil's lungs are struggling as Clint moves closer. He'd move, but his feet are rooted to the spot. "What's that?" he finally manages to croak out.

Clint reaches, wraps callused fingers around Phil's wrist, then tugs. Phil stumbles forward, falls against Clint's chest, his palm resting flat against chiseled muscles. They're of a height and Clint's chuckle brushes Phil's cheek. "Been imagining this moment. Gotta admit, I never dreamed you'd be half-dressed," he murmurs.

Phil knows he should straighten, pull away, put some distance between them, otherwise he's not going to be able to string two words together, let alone have an honest-to-god conversation.

When Phil licks his lips, Clint's pupils widen, blue-green-topaz irises diminishing to slivers. Phil murmurs, "What the fuck," cocks his head and presses forward. Clint's already there, starts with a soft, almost tentative kiss that just will not do. 

Whatever's going to happen between them, whatever Clint wants, Phil's going to make damn sure that there's no doubt how Phil feels, what he wants.

Phil tugs his hand from Clint's grasp, then wraps both arms around Clint to pull him flush against Phil's chest. There's only the thin cloth of their t-shirts between them, Phil's certain Clint can feel his heartbeat as he deepens the kiss, pushing forward until Clint relaxes and starts to kiss back with the same fervor that's consuming Phil.

He's lost in the best fucking kiss he's ever had. His hands stroke down Clint's spine to cup the swell of that glorious ass where he grips a handful, making Clint squeak. Phil grins, unrepentant. Or he is until he hears applause.

They jerk apart and Phil spins, taking a step forward to hide Clint from whoever had been spying on them. It's not like Phil doesn't know who's watching, but he's a little surprised by the eager faces of his _entire_ team staring back at him. Phil glares at them, crossing his arms over his chest as he asks, "Surely you _all_ understand the meaning of privacy? I'd hate to have to send you back through the protocols and procedures primer."

Clint moves to Phil's side and when Phil looks at him, he's smiling. It's a little shy, a bit forced, but it's there and real and all for him. "You gonna introduce me, babe?"

Phil inhales at the endearment and his own face splits in a goofy grin. And, oh shit, is Skye going to give him grief over this. "I'd love to," he answers.

Straightening, he sets his face and steps forward, satisfaction hums through him when everyone scampers back as he pushes through the door, Clint at his heels.

Just a few days ago, Phil had been resigned to a lonely, empty life. He had not been a happy man. _That_ Phil Coulson would never have imagined that he'd be here and have this such a short time later.

Clint wraps an arm around his waist as Phil says, "Clint, I'd like you to meet my team."

The End

**Author's Note:**

> There's so much Melinda because she was her badass self and took over, kind of like she and Natasha _do._ Who am I to argue with the awesome ladies of S.H.I.E.L.D.?
> 
> This satisfies my trope_bingo square: _presumed dead._
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** These are Marvel and Whedon and ABC's characters used in the spirit of creative commons. I promise to return them with smiles on.


End file.
